


Creature Fear

by Bazzle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: But not PWP!, Dubious Consent, Fluff and Angst, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:11:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazzle/pseuds/Bazzle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Pre-series, Sam is 15, Dean is 19) </p>
<p>Dean is cursed on a hunt and consumed by the need to take his little brother in every way he can. No idea how much of Dean is in that rabid body, Sam convinces their father to let him save his brother's life at the risk of revealing his own feelings for his brother. It's only later that Sam finds out that there might have been more of his brother there that night than he had realized.</p>
<p>EDIT: Fixed the spacing! Sorry!</p>
<p>Warning: This is not a fuck-or-die quickie... this is going to be traumatizing to both of the brothers and I would definitely classify this as dub-con in both directions. This fic deals with the initial incident and the boys working through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Creature Fear

**Author's Note:**

> I have read several fuck-or-die fics and I always find that I imagine that sort of scenario much much darker. This was initially just an attempt at that and it got kind of carried away and became this much bigger thing that I loved writing and became very proud of.
> 
> Anyone who is waiting on the sequel to my other Weecest fic, it's coming! I got very distracted by this story which kind of became a bitch to do right.
> 
> EDIT: Fixed the spacing!! That was super annoying and I didn't realize till this morning

“Sammy!” came the needy voice from the other side of the door.

Sam had stopped flinching at the sound of his name coming from his brother’s mouth with so much need and lust fueling that plea. It sent a shock of heat to his belly that made him want to hide from his father’s worried eyes.

“Give me time, I’ll think of another way...” John said. 

They were both pointedly ignoring the sounds coming from the bedroom while they spoke to each other from opposite sides of the living room. Sam was silently grateful that the cabin they were renting was completely isolated from the rest of the cabins on the sight. The neighbors might have questioned why Sam was driving the car when they pulled in at two in the morning. They might have been even more troubled by seeing Dean, hand-cuffed and writhing brother in his father’s grip, being dragged from the backseat to the house. And they might have been downright disturbed at the noises Dean was making if they could hear them.

“We don’t have time,” Sam said, his voice icy cold as he shoved past his father, “ _He_ doesn’t have time.”

“You can’t expect me to sit here and watch you do this,” John said grabbing a hold of Sam’s arm and spinning him around.

“No,” Sam said defiantly, his voice steady, “I don’t. So leave.”

“Sammy, please,” came a muffled, helpless whimper from the bedroom. 

“I just-” John shook his head, staring behind Sam at the doorway that stood between his two sons, “I just can’t let you do this to yourself... to both of you.”

“If you think I’m going to let him die...” Sam said, his voice trailing off. 

“This is my fault,” John said while Sam began looking through Dean’s duffel bag.

“You know what?” Sam said without looking up, “It really is... All of this is your fault, and I can’t fix anything else about our lives, but I’m going to fix this.”

Sam couldn’t see his father, but the silence rang in his ears and he knew he had hit home. Finally finding what he had been hoping to find, he stood up straight, a bottle of cheap lube held in his fist. His father’s eyes darted to Sam’s hand and Sam’s cheeks burned at the thought of his father realizing what it was.

“You need to leave now,” Sam said as he began walking towards the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” John asked.

Sam stared at him, incredulous, bottle of lube clutched in his fist. 

“Something tells me that Dean isn’t going to be in the right mindset to make this gentle... do I need to spell it out for you?” Sam said with mean sarcasm, waving the bottle in the air so his father could see it.

John’s face changes from confused to disgust in a matter of seconds. Sam just lets out an impatient breath and points towards the door. It’s unbearably humiliating that his father knows he’s about to finger himself in the bathroom so that his brother doesn’t tear him open, but at least the idea seems to have scared John enough that he wants to leave. John turns towards the door, grabbing his bag, but then hesitates.

“You know what you’re doing?” John asks.

“I’ll figure it out as I go...” Sam says with a valiant effort at sarcasm.

And Sam understands that he has to ask, but he’s still horrified when his father says, “Do you need h-”

“No!” Sam says immediately, “God, no. Leave. Please, please just leave.”

His father looks immensely relieved and Sam waits for him to leave, arms folded over his chest. Finally, _finally_ , his father turns to leave.

“Sam,” John says a hand on the door.

“What?” Sam asks, not bothering to look up.

“Look at me,” he says firmly. When he does, John’s face is helpless, scared and earnest when he says, “Do not unlock those handcuffs.”

“Dad-”

“I mean it!” John snaps.

“He’s not going to-”

“You have no idea what he’s going to do!” John says, “I don’t know how much of Dean is in there right now... Dean would never have done that.”

And he points to where Sam’s shirt is ripped open a few inches along his shoulder.

 

_“Sam!” Dean shouts as Sam is hurled against a wall by the monster or goddess or whatever the hell the bitch is._

_Sam is out only for a second, but when he drags himself out of the blackness, he’s met with a sight that doesn’t help his head clear up._

_The Aphrodite, or that’s what they were calling it anyways, had Dean pinned to a wall and was kissing him. Dean looked like he was in shock. He wasn’t moving an inch. He seemed frozen while she licked at his lips. His eyes were open wide, blank and vacant, and suddenly Sam’s head cleared up enough to realize that this was bad... whatever was happening (and he really had no idea what was happening, they had never dealt with this before) was not good._

_He stood on his shaky feet and aimed Dean’s spare pistol at the Goddess’s back, but just as he was trying to still his hands enough to shoot and not hit his brother, their father came barreling from the other room where he had been unconscious moments before._

_He tackled the goddess off of Dean and Sam’s head was still too fuzzy to keep track of the confusion. He only had enough headspace to see that Dean had crumpled to the ground where the monster had left him. Sam felt shaky with fear as he half-ran to his brother’s side where he dropped to the ground beside him._

_Dean’s eyes were closed but he was breathing normally. He was sweating from their chase, but he felt cold with fear when Dean wouldn’t answer him. Something in the back of his head reminded him he should be helping their father, but he couldn’t bring himself to think past Dean._

_“Dean!” Sam shouted into his face, “Dean, wake up man!”_

_He slapped his face and the moment that Sam’s skin touched his, Dean’s eyes shot open and his hand was up in a second, grabbing a hold of Sam’s wrist._

_“Sammy?” he asked._

_Sam was so relieved and it was so dark that he didn’t even notice Dean’s eyes, “Jesus, thank god...” and he let his head take back over, remembering that their father was in danger._

_It was only a seconds distraction. He had only turned his eyes to the fight for a second, not even long enough to react to it, and he certainly wasn’t prepared to react to Dean’s grip tightening on his wrist while his other hand yanked Sam by the shoulder violently to the ground. Sam had no other defense than a startled yelp of surprise._

_But he was well and firmly beneath Dean by the time his head caught up with what was happening. Dean was straddling his hips and holding both of his wrists above his head in one of his own. The other hand was petting a slow path down his neck, his chest, his stomach, his-_

_“Dean!” Sam shouted out terrified and confused._

_“Yeah,” Dean said, “Yeah, Sammy.”_

_Something clicked in Sam’s brain then that this wasn’t Dean... Dean didn’t want him, something was wrong, something had happened, and_ focus _because there’s a fucking monster in this room..._

_But his dick didn’t seem to be able to process any of the things his foggy head was working through. After all, it was well-trained to respond to the image of Dean in similar situations despite Sam’s shame. But it had always just been the image of this... but now he had Dean hovering over him, just as beautiful as always and he wanted Sam._

_That, more than anything, was Sam’s biggest motivation in stopping this. If Dean came to and realized how much Sam was enjoying this, or worse... if their_ father _..._

_Sam started struggling underneath him, pulling at his wrists and trying to buck Dean off of him. But Dean’s hands only tightened to a bruising grip on his wrists and he began really spreading himself over Sam._

_“Stop!” Sam shouted helplessly, panicking because this felt so much better than it should, “Dean, stop!”_

_Dean spread his thighs until his weight rested on Sam’s crotch and Sam could feel the hard line of Dean’s cock against his hip. Dean ground his hips down and lined their bodies up so that it was- so sweet, god so fucking good-_

_“Jesus!” Dean moans, “Jesus, Sammy... fucking mine, mine-”_

_“Dean!” he was crying now, tears streaming into his hair because he was helpless and he was hard and so so incredibly ashamed that he felt this way, wanted his brother so badly, so desperately that he was getting off on some monstrous version of him taking him without permission._

_“Dean, please...” Sam cries, as Dean ruts against him, groaning, “Please, stop...”_

_Dean’s face was in shadow, looming over him, coming closer and closer to his lips and- god please, please not like this... they’re not this- and he can’t let Dean kiss him. He can’t._

_“DAD!” Sam screams then, screams so loud that it feels like he’s shredding his throat with the effort to get his father’s attention and hold back the sobs. He turns his face away from Dean’s so that his cheek is digging into the gravel beneath him, “Dad! Something’s WRONG! DAD!” he tastes blood in his throat, and Dean’s gripping his chin and turning it towards his own._

_When Sam is forced to look at Dean, he sees just how wrong this is. Dean’s pupils have expanded so wide that his irises are almost completely covered. There’s only the tiniest sliver of green around the edge. And Dean is leaning in to kiss him now, and those eyes are still open, and it couldn’t be more sick._

_How many times had Sam envisioned this exact position? How many times had he touched himself thinking of Dean grinding against him? How many nights had he fallen asleep imagining what Dean’s lips tasted like?_

_Vision blurry and tasting blood in his throat, Sam suddenly wonders if this is his punishment for wanting Dean. He wanted his brother in the one way he wasn’t supposed to want him, and now some cruel god was giving him what he had dreamed of. Only it was twisted and perverted._

_Sam shuts his eyes, but instead of feeling Dean’s lips against his, he felt Dean being hauled off of him. He opened his eyes to the confused image of their father, face half-covered in blood, dragging Dean up by his jacket._

_Dean scrabbled at Sam’s body to find something to hold onto. He digs his fingers into Sam’s shoulder and Sam is so shocked he can’t even try to pull it off. It wasn’t until their father separated them by force that Sam was free, his shoulder bloody from Dean’s fingernails and his shirt ripped open._

_Sam tries not to suffocate on his short breaths sitting on the cold concrete, face wet with tears, as he mindlessly watches his father wrestle his brother to the ground. Their father makes a quick job of it, probably because Dean’s movements are so predictable. Any time he gets an inch of freedom he lunges towards Sam with all of his force, and every time Sam flinches helplessly, huddled on the ground. Every time their father drags him backwards away from Sam._

_Finally they go still. “Get the handcuffs, Sam,” their father says calmly, one knee pressed firmly into the center of Dean’s back and his arms held above his head. Sam drives so their father can subdue Dean in the backseat._

_After the third “-gonna fuck you so hard, Sammy-” Sam is endlessly grateful that their father gags Dean, because he doesn’t think his cheeks could be any brighter._

_“Why is he like this?” Sam asks, hands shaky on the steering wheel._

_“It must be because you were the first person to touch him...” he says, “Some kind of curse.”_

 

Sam’s pulls a little at the ripped fabric, trying to pretend that this wasn’t all getting to him. 

“I’m not risking both of your lives in this,” John says in a voice that meant he was not arguing, “and if it goes south at all, you call it off and you call me. Period.”

Sam stared at his father for a long moment, wondering what could possibly be going through the mind of a father who was leaving his oldest son to take his little brother’s virginity. 

Sam gave him a tight nod, and then John walked out of the cabin. Sam stood and listened to the Impala’s engine come to life and the scratch of the tires against the gravel path

Sam didn’t let himself think, just immediately walked towards the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He felt an ounce of relief for the momentary solitude in the first-floor single bathroom. But it was abruptly ended when he remembered why he was alone in this dingy single bathroom.

Sam stared at himself in the mirror, bottle in one hand, steeling himself to do this. There was a long moan from the other room that finally made him move. 

He unbuckled his jeans and pulled them off, kicking them haphazardly into a corner. He poured a generous amount of lube onto two fingers over the sink, and paused then.

As often as Sam imagined doing this (or more accurately, imagined _Dean_ doing it _to_ him) Sam had never actually fingered himself. There had been a few times when he couldn’t quite bring himself over the edge, and he would press a curious finger to the rim, but that was as far as he got. He knew the general idea, though. 

Once he realized his feelings for his brother, he had naturally turned to research. But the only thing he was sure of was that this was going to hurt. He was still small and Dean wasn’t, in more senses than one. He had seen his brother naked only a few times since they were grown up. Each time was usually marked by bright red cheeks and an inconvenient boner on Sam’s part. Regardless, this wasn’t going to be easy.

Sam pressed a cold slippery finger between his cheeks, his other hand braced against the sink. He felt a shiver of anticipation as he traced his entrance with the tip of his finger.

“Saaaaaaam,” and it sounded like Dean was crying now, “Sam, please...”

Sam had to stop wasting time. Their father said he was going to die if they didn’t solve this, but how soon did he have? Without another thought Sam pressed the finger inside.

He gasped quietly as he pressed up to his first knuckle. It was an easier slide than he thought it would be, but it didn’t mean he wanted more. He would have liked some time to adjust, but he didn’t, so instead he closed his eyes and stubbornly pressed his finger deeper to the last knuckle. He was deliberately rushing through this... no idea whether he was going to even be able to do this quickly enough to save his brother.

He twisted experimentally and let out a quick gasp at the strange sensation. He pulled it out an inch and squeezed his eyes shut as he pressed it back. His body wasn’t ready for it yet, but when he pulled the finger out again, he recklessly began pressing his second finger to the rim. He had to press hard to get it inside at all, and this time it burned, but again, he pressed all the way until it was slotted alongside his other finger. 

He was breathing hard now. He was good with pain, always had been. It was just that this was such a different kind of pain that Sam felt himself sweating with the effort to not drag his fingers out of himself and just make it all go away.

Dean cried out and the noises were bordering on pain rather than longing now.

Sam spread his fingers and had to squeeze his eyes shut. He did it a few times, setting a brutal pattern where he spread them a little more each time. Then he twisted his fingers and started it all over again. The pain was a slow burning build up inside of him, but he couldn’t stop.

He pulled his fingers out, almost all the way, then pressed them back in and opened his eyes in surprise. The drag was strange, but not entirely unpleasant. It didn’t make the pain any worse, at least. 

Sam pulled his fingers out entirely and he hated how he felt, wet and open and empty. He poured more slick on all four of his fingers this time, rubbing the liquid between them, then without a moment’s pause, brutally pressed three fingers inside of himself.

He moaned, no idea whether that was pain or the beginnings of pleasure. He was staring at himself in the mirror, and realized what he must look like right now. His cheeks were red and flushed, his pupils wide, and he was bent over a sink with three fingers up his ass. He looked like a fucking cock-slut. Like a child-pornographers dream.

Sam turned his face away from the mirror, ashamed and humiliated even though he was alone. The burn inside of him was changing into a very different feeling that he wouldn’t even label as pleasure yet... just new and demanding his attention. 

“God, Sammy,” came the muffled moan, and suddenly Sam’s dick came to life and his muscles clenched around his fingers.

And then he gave in. He let himself think about it. He let himself imagine it was Dean. He pulled his fingers out till just the tips were inside of him, and was amazed to realize that it felt like his body was trying to suck them back in. He drove them back into his body, the image of Dean driving into him, and he moaned at the shock of heat that bloomed out from his hole. 

“Sammy,” Dean sobbed.

And Sam did it again, pulled his fingers out and then back in, and the blush had spread down his neck now. He wanted to touch himself. He wanted to grab his dick and just let himself go with only an image of Dean rather than having to face the real one. But instead, he wriggles his pinky in beside his other three fingers, and this time the stretch is welcome. It hurts, but it makes his cock twitch and he looks at himself one last time. 

He’s hard. He can’t be fucking hard right now. He doesn’t know how much of this Dean is going to remember, if anything, but even if Dean doesn’t remember a damn thing, Sam won’t be able to live with himself getting off from Dean being in mortal peril.

His body is still adjusting to the fourth finger when Sam pulls them out, disgusted with himself. The sharp pain at his rough handling helps him get his brain away from his need to get off.

He washes his hands haphazardly and pulls his pants back on, every movement punctuated by the slick, empty feeling between Sam’s legs. 

He opens the door and Dean’s moans and the sounds of the bed springs are a little more audible in the main room. Sam crosses the room and turns the doorknob. Dean must have heard the click of the lock because the sound of the bedsprings quieted for a moment.

“Sammy?” says a desperately hopeful voice, “Sam, baby?”

Then the sounds began again, more fervent now. Sam takes a deep breath and opens the door. 

Dean is laid out on the bed, pulling violently against the handcuffs that hold him to the bed. His hips are humping up, desperate for friction. The bulge in his pants looks beyond painful. He looks feverish, skin pale, making his freckles stand out. Dean’s shirt had been torn badly in the fight, so their father had just cut it off so that Sam was staring at Dean’s bare chest. His hard muscles were straining painfully while he fought against his restraints. 

Sam had to swallow hard, because he looked like every wet dream Sam had had for the last two years. Except for one thing. 

His eyes were bright, hungry, and wild. Black. Those unnatural black eyes were staring at Sam like he was trying to set him on fire. 

“Sammy,” Dean said, his voice heavy with relief, “Need you, Baby...please...God, please.”

Sam takes a tentative step into the bedroom. Dean begins pulling on his restraints even harder, his eyes so focused, but his expression still looks so much like the Dean that he knew. He wished he didn’t. He wished that he could look at Dean and see anyone but his brother. Sam wished he had the gleaming eyes of a shapeshifter or the wrongness of a doppelganger, but he didn’t. This was just Dean, and Dean looked like he was going to consume him, rather than fuck him.

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam says, his voice shaking and Dean groans when Sam says his name, “I’m here... I’m gonna make you feel better.”

Sam makes his legs move, one in front of the other, across the endless distance between himself and his rabid brother. Dean can’t move any closer to him, but the imminent threat feels like it’s was approaching him at light speed. 

Standing next to the bed, Dean’s eyes rake over his body. Sam’s hands are shaking hard as he begins to pop open the button his jeans and Dean’s eyes zeroed in on the motion, his eyes widening and his body stilling as Sam pulls down the zipper.

Sam shuts his eyes as he feels the cool breeze hit his half-hard cock, knowing exactly where Dean’s eyes are as well as if they were touching him, and that sent an involuntary shock of pleasure that made him want to throw up... because Dean was sick, he was hurting, and he was never going to forgive Sam when this was over.

Sam opens his eyes, and Dean wasn’t looking where he thought he was. He is staring up at Sam’s face, raw need written all over his face.

“Please, Sam,” Dean asked, his eyes pinned to Sam’s even while his hips rolled off the mattress, seeking some relief, “Please, hurts so bad...”

And that gave Sam courage. 

“I know,” Sam said. 

He was helping him, healing him even, and he couldn’t be afraid. So he crawls onto the bed and for some reason beyond him, he pulls his shirt off. Dean groans when he catches sight of the exposed skin and Sam kneels next to him, completely naked with a bottle of lube and the tiny key he had promised his father he wouldn’t use palmed in his hand. 

“God, Sam, so amazing,” Dean says, his words a constant stream, “Need it bad, need you bad... my Sammy, my Baby, my sweetheart come on-”

When Sam’s surprisingly sure hands move towards Dean’s zipper, Dean thrusts his hips upwards towards his touch and Sam has to ignore the blazing heat that brushes against his fingers as he holds one of Dean’s hips down to the mattress, dropping the bottle and lube, but keeping an eye on the key his father had ordered him not to use.

Dean’s words are constantly ping-ponging between loving endearments and utter filth without any warning. It’s giving Sam whiplash, and when Dean goes from saying “-Jesus, you’re perfect Sammy, so pretty, you know that?-” to “-want to come inside of you, come on you and make you wear it so everyone knows who you belong to-” with a vicious snarl, the words send blood to Sam’s half-hard cock so quickly that it hurts and it takes him a second to remember how to breathe.

Sam holds his hips down as well as he can while his other hand begins to undo his zipper. Under Sam’s hands, Dean begins to shake, his stream of filth turning into a whispered “-please, please, please Sammy-” but he calms down enough to lift his hips to help Sam pull his jeans off. 

When he’s sitting there in just his boxers, cock straining against the worn fabric, Sam takes a mental break to remind himself what this is. This is not mutual. This is not consensual. This is him saving his brothers life. So there is no justification for the fact that when Sam slips his thumbs under the waistband of his brother’s boxers, he’s suddenly over come with the urge to mouth at his cock through the fabric. Sam shakes the image out of his head, forcing himself to stop wondering what the plane of Dean’s abs would look like from that angle.

He begins inching them off, and Sam takes a sharp intake of breath when he sees the base of Dean’s cock and the little nest of blonde curls. Dean whines with need as the cotton drags over his hard-on, until it’s free to bounce back against his belly, the head wet and an angry shade of red. 

There’s a shock of fear when Sam realizes that this is going to hurt more than he imagined. Sam figured as much, he hasn’t seen Dean hard and it’s no wonder that Dean would have a massive cock. He is very aware of the fact that his fingers could only reach so far, and every second he stalls this his body is closing off again.

“Sammy, gotta have you now,” and Dean’s face is tight with more than desire, “Hurts so bad... hurts so fucking- inside you now, let me.... come on please baby-”

When Sam sees how much Dean is struggling to even put sentences together, he isn’t afraid of Dean’s leaking hard-on anymore.

“I know, Dean,” Sam says while he picks the bottle of lube up and pours it in his hand. He remembers how cold it had been on his ass and rubs his hands together quickly staring at Dean’s face and he looks like he might start crying.

Without anymore thought, Sam puts his hands on him. 

Dean’s dick is in his hand and they both moan in unison. Sam is so ashamed at how much he loves the feel of Dean in his grip, heavy and hot. Sam does almost nothing, Dean begins thrusting into his slick fist immediately, coating himself without meaning to in lube. Sam stares in wonder at the head of Dean’s cock disappearing in the palm of his hand and  with a jolt, he realizes that this is going to be happening inside of him. Dean, thrusting into him, heady with need and want and Sam has to resist the urge to touch his own cock. 

Dean’s thrusting becomes more frantic, and while he had looked relieved only moments ago, he looks like he’s in more pain than ever. 

“Noooo,” he whines, and his eyes are shiny with tears, “Not enough, want inside you... want you all around me... please-”

There’s a lump in Sam’s throat that he doesn’t think he can speak around, so he just nods and palms the head of Dean’s cock with his other hand until he’s completely slick. 

When Sam takes his hands off of him, Dean seems to realize what’s happening because he’s stopped moving his hips and he’s staring wide-eyed at Sam now. 

Sam can’t think or else he’ll lose his nerve. He hastily wipes the lube on his hands onto the sheets. His heart is racing as he clumsily clambers onto Dean’s lap so that he’s straddling Dean’s thighs. Dean’s cock is straining between Sam’s thighs and his own is hanging between Dean’s. It’s so unbelievable hot that he forgets what he’s doing as he lets the heat of Dean’s legs spread into his thighs. 

“Come on,” Dean thrusts upwards and Sam is reminded what he’s doing.

He braces himself on Dean’s stomach as he shimmies himself forward, and now it’s the heat of Dean’s cock that he feels beneath him. Dean’s eyes are wide as saucers, his whole body is taught like a rubber band and he looks like he might be holding his breath. Then Sam suddenly realizes that he is.

“Breathe, Dean,” Sam says, and Sam suddenly feels like he can do this, because Dean needs him in more ways than one right now. He reaches behind him and lines Dean’s length up with his still slippery hole. “Breathe for me.”

Dean lets out a shaky breath and Sam lowers himself until Dean is pressing against him. Sam sets his features and Dean lets out a deep moan of relief as Sam presses down hard enough that the head of Dean’s cock finally pushes into him, past the tight ring of muscles. Sam would have cried out, but he can’t, can’t let Dean know how much this hurts (and it hurts like hell) even though the odds that Dean will look at him after this are slim as it is. Dean’s moan is a steady stream as Sam slides all the way down, ignoring the how horrible the stretch is, until Dean’s completely inside of him. 

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and forces his body to relax around Dean. Sam breathes again and spreads his hands against the flat plane of Dean’s stomach... and then he is suddenly struck by the fact that Dean is completely still beneath him.

He opens his eyes to see black eyes staring at him. The tension in Dean’s body makes it look like he’s going to break, but he is holding himself still while he stares at Sam, his face pained and his eyebrows drawn together with the effort to keep himself still while his need is so great. His eyes are questioning, as if he wants to ask “You okay?” but can’t spare the energy.

Sam presses his hands to Dean’s chest and pulls himself half off of Dean and Dean grits his teeth letting out a shaky moan. 

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam says, his voice breathy, “Go ahead.”

And Dean doesn’t waste a second. Dean’s hips are violent when they thrust up and into him, but Sam had expected it. He holds himself as still as he can while Dean’s hips come up to meet him, driving into Sam deeper than he thought was possible. 

And when his cock begins to twitch back to life, laid out against Dean’s belly, he thinks that maybe he can forgive himself for this. He tentatively rolls his hips to meet Dean’s strong strokes and finds that sweet spot inside of him completely by accident. 

“Christ! That’s it, Sammy,” Dean is muttering again, “That’s my boy... fucking perfect...”

He thinks that maybe they can get past this. He rolls into it again and bites his lip, eyes beginning to water. 

“-God, so fucking tight-”

He’s not sure if the threatening tears are from the confusing mix of pain and pleasure or if it’s from the overwhelming completeness he’s feeling at having Dean inside of him, or the despair that he knows this will be the only time he will feel it.

“-Sammy... my Sammy, fucking mine, always mine-”

As his pleasure builds, he thinks with a deep sense of resignation that this must be the last puzzle piece, but he will never be allowed to have it.

“Sam, gotta touch you,” Dean said, suddenly pulling on his restraints again, “Gotta hold you... please Sammy.”

 

Sam looks past Dean’s stretched arms to where the handcuffs chain him to the bedpost. Dean looks like he is about to pull his hands off in his effort to get out of them and two rings of blood are starting to form where the metal cuts into his skin. 

“I want to take them off,” Sam said, trying to keep his voice composed while his brother thrust mindlessly into him, “But you have to promise-”

Sam’s voice was cut off by a harsh thrust that lifted him up off the bed.

“Promise you anything, Baby,” Dean said, “Promise I’ll make it so good for you, promise, promise you-”

“Dean!” Sam said, cutting off Dean’s babbling, “You have to promise you won’t hurt me.”

Dean’s eyes shoot open and Sam swears that the thin ring of Green in his eyes widens when he speaks again. 

“Never hurt you, Sammy,” comes the voice, softer now and the roll of his hips is suddenly gentler, making the pull and drag against his insides just a little sweeter, “Couldn’t ever hurt you... you gotta know that.. you gotta know that I... you gotta... you gotta let me fucking fuck you-”

And the stream of filth is back. His hips begin bucking again and Sam can’t hold back a moan when it’s Dean who drives against that something inside of him that makes him blush and mindlessly spread his thighs to press himself further on his brothers cock. 

“That’s it,” Dean says, and manages to hit that spot again, then again, “Gotta let me hold you, want to touch you so badly, baby.”

Sam’s hands are shaking as he takes a hold of the key he had been palming this whole time and leans forward far enough to reach the handcuffs without pulling himself off of where Dean is buried inside of him. He reaches, their torsos almost touching, but he can’t reach. Dean gets with the program when he realizes his intent and violently pulls himself and Sam astride him up the bed by the metal digging into his wrists to get Sam closer to the handcuffs.

The motion throws Sam forward onto Dean’s chest, and suddenly they’re touching so much more than they had been a second ago and it is a thousand times more intimate than Dean being inside of him. Their breathing hard into each other, the broad expanses of Dean’s chest pressed to Sam’s, and Dean’s eyes are suddenly that little bit greener again. Sam wishes they weren’t, because every fraction his inhuman pupils shrink, Every millimeter of bright green reminds Sam that this is the person he is in love with, the person he knows will break the moment he wakes up from this.

And then Dean kisses him, and it’s searing heat against his lips as Dean’s fever inches higher with every second he doesn’t come inside of Sam. Dean’s lips and teeth and tongue are insistent against him, inside of him, and Sam whimpers helplessly as Dean learns one of the only parts of his Sammy he doesn’t already have intimate knowledge of. It sends his stomach fluttering in a way seeing Dean naked and spread out for him did not. It drags him into the sensations more than Dean’s thrusts up and inside of him _could_ not. 

Dean is kissing him, and it’s something Sam has never let himself hope for, a desire he had only just let himself acknowledge, and now it is happening. Now he knows exactly the taste of Dean’s tongue and the way his teeth feel clamped gently on his lower lip. Sam will always remember the spark of pleasure that shot down into his gut when Dean sucked Sam’s tongue out of his mouth, into his own, and Sam will always remember that none of it was real, that it happened against Dean’s will and that this was going to ruin whatever relationship Sam had learned to content himself with.

Sam shoved himself away from Dean at the thought with a choked moan, hands hard against his chest, and Dean chased his mouth with his own. Sam refused to look down at him as he tried to see the lock clearly through the haze of tears and make his hands stop shaking to unlock the handcuffs.

With a quiet click that seemed to echo clearly through the room above the heavy breaths and bedsprings, the handcuffs unlocked. Sam closes his eyes in anticipation. There is a fraction of a second’s worth of tension, and Sam is afraid to open his eyes in the silence. 

Then, there’s a burst of motion and a clatter of metal as Dean pulls himself out of the handcuffs and away from the bed frame. Two arms clamp around Sam’s torso and Dean’s chest collides with his before his lips do the same, in a fleeting kiss that is ended almost immediately by Dean flipping them over so that Sam is on his back underneath him. 

It’s the first sign of weakness Sam has shown. He had kept quiet throughout, but Sam shouts in pain at the violent twisting inside of him at the way Dean was handling him, harsh and sudden. The pain fades from his thoughts though because the movement inside of him stops and that demands his attention.

Sam opens his eyes to see Dean looking down at him and it takes a second for the fear to register... it takes a full breath in and out for the devastation to sink in.

Because that’s Dean... just Dean...

And of course it is, of course he’s fighting this, even if it will kill him. He had heard Sam in pain and now, his big brother had come back to the surface and he looked like someone had broken his fucking heart.

A flash of agony comes across Dean’s face, and he squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth hard, but when he looks at Sam again, it’s still him.

“Sam?” he grits out, confusion and terror in his voice.

His eyes are wide, his hair is mussed and his expression is one of horror. Sam blinks, and the tears that had been threatening to fall only a moment ago immediately begin sliding down his cheeks.

“Dean,” Sam cries, “I had to-I’m so sorry-”

“Sam!” Dean cries out as he thrusts mindlessly into Sam once before stilling at the sound of Sam’s cry of shock and pain. 

Then Dean is the one that looks in pain, because he’s digging his fingers into Sam’s shoulders and muttering under his breath, “-won’t-won’t-won’t-” more to himself than to Sam as he tries to pull out of Sam even while it looks like it’s killing him. 

“No!” Sam cries out, wrapping his legs behind Dean’s back and pulling him closer, “You’ll die, Dean!” 

“-won’t-won’t-”

“Dean!” Sam shouts, grabbing Dean’s face with both of his, inches away from his own, “Dean, you have to! I’m not letting you die!”

And Sam pushes his hips up so that Dean is pulled back into his body and Dean lets out a moan somewhere in the back of his throat, his chant cut off. It still burns, it still is too much heat and weight inside of him, but Sam begins rolling his hips in some semblance of a rhythm and Dean won’t move, just looks down at Sam as if he’s betrayed him, his eyes full of shame and hurt. 

The truth comes crashing in on Sam then. His hopes that he could forgive himself for this shatter staring into Dean’s eyes, so full of pain. But still...

“Please don’t leave me alone,” Sam begs, “Don’t you dare.”

And then, in a desperate attempt to finish this, Sam pulls Dean down to him and kisses him. _Probably for the last time_ , Sam realizes. It’s sloppy and stilted, but Sam doesn’t let up even as Dean whines, “Sammy!” against his lips.

There’s a an almost inaudible shift in the room, and then Dean’s rips his hands off of Sam’s shoulders so fast his fingers scratch open his skin for the second time that night. Sam hardly has time to register the pain before Dean’s has his hips in a bruising grip and Sam opens his eyes when Dean lets out a possessive growl, face only an inch away from his own.

Equal parts relieved and scared, Sam stares into Dean’s black-again eyes as his hips begin moving once more, deliberate now as Dean’s pace builds until he is pounding into him in earnest now. 

Sam lets out a breath of relief that turns into a shout of surprise and pleasure as Dean hits that spot inside of him again. It doesn’t hurt the way it had before, his body seems to have gotten used to the pain and the heat is beginning to spread from his groin.

He’s so ashamed of it now, so incredibly angry with himself that he is feeling this. He had been so fucking ignorant to think that he could let himself enjoy this without the gnawing guilt that is now clawing at his insides.

“Like that, Baby?” Dean growls out, his breath hot against Sam’s neck, and he hitches Sam’s hips up and angles his hips so he doesn’t brush past that spot inside him, rather grinds against it hard with each thrust.

“Don’t!” Sam cries, his voice little more than a broken sob, “I can’t-”

His words are interrupted by his own needy moan at a particularly harsh thrust inside of him as Dean’s rhythm begins to speed up.

“God, Sammy,” Dean says quietly, and it still sounds like Dean even though his eyes are still almost entirely black. Dean pulls away so he can look at him fully. He’s staring down at Sam in wonder, and Sam is overwhelmed by the gut-wrenching ache that this isn’t meant for him, that all of _Dean_ isn’t meant for him. Dean’s eyes rake over Sam’s face. 

“So beautiful,” his voice is getting gentler, even as his body become more violent, driving mercilessly into Sam, “Always been so beautiful... my Sammy...”

“Dean-” Sam moans helplessly, the words making his heart hurt, “Stop... don’t say...”

He pulls a hand from Sam’s hip to bury it in Sam’s hair and Sam leans into the touch even though he wants to cry. Dean drops his forehead to Sam’s as his hand pulls out of Sam’s hair to trail down his chest. Dean is staring straight into his eyes when his hand reaches Sam’s length, laying hard and heavy on his belly between them.

Sam begins shaking his head marginally, tears falling freely now as Dean’s hand wraps around him, impossibly large. Dean kisses his nose, then his cheeks wet with tears, as he smears Sam’s pre-come around the head of his cock with his calloused thumb and Sam sobs, even as he arches to feel Dean deeper inside of him. 

“Want you to feel good,” Dean says, his cheek pressed against Sam’s so his voice is just a breath in Sam’s ear, “All I ever wanted...”

“Don’t, Dean,” Sam says helplessly as Dean begins stroking his length between them, and Sam’s hand flies up to the back of Dean’s head. His breathing is picking up now, and his fingers tighten in Dean’s short hair.

Dean licks against Sam’s earlobe before pulling away to stare down at Sam as his hand tightens around his little brother’s cock and his motions inside of him and around him begins to stutter off rhythm.

“Sammy,” he says, pupils a little smaller as they both hurtle towards the end of this, and Sam stares up at him, knowing he’s already lost this battle, “I love you so much.”

At those words, Sam let’s out a sound as if Dean broke him, and his cock jerks in Dean’s fist, heat consuming him as he moans with need. Dean swallows the sound with his mouth and mindlessly thrusts his tongue into Sam as Sam’s body presses as much of their bodies together as he can while Sam paints both of their chests and Dean’s hand with his come. 

“Always loved you too much, Sammy,” Dean’s says against Sam’s lips as his hips mercilessly shove into him, making Sam’s pleasure last far too long until it’s bordering on pain, letting out clipped cries with each thrust deeper inside of him. 

Dean’s wrapped his soiled hand behind Sam again and he clutches Sam to him as he grinds into him. Sam hooks his hands behind Dean’s back and hooks his arms onto Dean’s shoulders just trying to hang on. It’s too much, and yet he doesn’t want it to end. Dean’s body is wrapped around him, and Sam’s heat is wrapped around Dean, and between the after shocks of pleasure, Sam has the delirious thought that this is the closest physical manifestation they could ever manage of how important they are to each other, sex or not. He was never going to love anyone the same way he loved Dean and Dean-

_“Never stop loving you.”_

It’s more breath against his neck than words, but it sends a shock of giddy happiness through him, followed by a sickening wave of grief when he remembers that it’s all fake.

And then Dean’s body jerks against him, and there’s heat blooming deep inside of Sam as Dean empties himself into his heat with a cry that sounds painful, face buried in Sam’s neck. Dean’s hips are still rocking into him, the drag of his cock suddenly easier, slicker, and Sam doesn’t want it to end because he knows what happens next and knows what he’s leaving behind.

And the lazy rolls of Dean’s hips come to a sudden halt while he’s buried inside of Sam, arms still wrapped around him and his breath still hot on his neck.

Sam waits, the weight and heat of his brother still on top of him and inside of him. He waits for it to come crashing down as the seconds pass by and the moment grows. 

Sam wouldn’t have been able to feel it if they weren’t pressed so tightly together, but Dean’s body is shaking just barely. He’s still gripping Dean’s shoulders from behind, and he is at a loss, no idea what is going through Dean’s head right now.

Dean holds Sam a little closer and Sam lets him, rubbing his thumb over his shoulder and realizing that he has no idea who is supposed to be comforting who in this moment. 

Dean lets out a broken cry and manages to say “Sam-” and can’t say anything more than that before he breaks down in earnest. 

Sam feels like his heart is going to rip in two because Dean is sobbing into Sam’s shoulder, softening cock still inside of Sam and Dean’s tears on his neck.

“I’m so sorry,” he says between sobs, and he sounds strung-out and broken, “Just a fucking... just a kid... I’m so sorry... Sam... please...”

Sam turns his face so he’s pressing his cheek into Dean’s short hair, his heart aching, and whispering into his ear, “It’s okay... _I’m_ okay... Not your fault, Dean,” he tries to assure him, hands rubbing up and down his back, still slick with cooling sweat, but that just makes Dean sob harder.

Sam lies perfectly still underneath him. Even when Dean’s weight makes his shoulders ache and his stretched hole aches, he doesn’t move. Dean’s body is heaving and sam doesn’t know how to make this better. He doesn’t know what he could say to take back the last hour of their lives.

It takes a few minutes, but Dean begins to calm down, his sobs just hiccuping breaths that make Sam want to cry again. 

Finally, he seems to realize that he’s still inside of Sam because he takes his weight off of Sam, up on one of his elbows. Sam’s arms fall from around his back and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with them anymore, so they just fall limply at his sides.

Dean’s face is down so Sam can’t see him. He is staring down at where their bodies are connected and he pulls out of Sam inch by inch, so careful and slow, but it still hurts. Sam sucks in a breath when he’s pulled out completely and Dean’s eyes dart towards his face, concerned.

Green.

God he fucking missed those eyes. Sam drinks them in even though they are so full of pain and shame and concern. Neither of them look away, and Sam is so relieved that they can look each other in the eye that he never wants to stop. There’s a pull between them that seems to drag Dean’s face a fraction closer to Sam’s and for the tiniest moment, Sam swears he’s going to kiss him and his heart jumps into his throat with anticipation.

But then Dean rolls off the bed so quickly he nearly falls off. 

“Dean,” Sam says, and Dean won’t look at him. He’s put as much distance between him and the bed already and is digging through his bag, carelessly throwing things on the ground until he finds a clean pair of jeans that he immediately begins pulling on without bothering to put on underwear or clean up at all.

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam says more insistently this time, “Dean what are you-”

And then it hits Sam that he’s leaving. 

Sam sits up so quickly he sees stars. He’s suddenly overcome with dread even though he knew this would happen and he shouldn’t be surprised. Knew Dean wouldn’t be able to ever look at Sam again. But something in his gut is telling him that he can’t let Dean leave now. Can’t let him run away, because he might not come back to him.

Dean is pulling on a t-shirt by the time that Sam gets with the picture and he sits up on the bed now. “Dean!” he begs, “Dean, don’t leave!”

“I can’t,” Dean says, his voice is wrecked and he won’t look at him, “I just fucking can’t, Sammy.”

He grabs his wallet and Sam is desperate now. “No,” Sam says, “Please don’t leave... I’m sorry, Dean... I’m so sorry.”

Dean spins around, his face amazed but his eyes so sad. Dean is staring hard at him. Sam is suddenly conscious of the sight he must make. 

He’s still completely naked and sitting among the twisted and rumpled sheets that are soiled with their sweat and come and tears. His own seed is splattered across his chest still, and he’s struck with the knowledge that Dean must have the mirror pattern on his own chest under that t-shirt. 

He feels like a whore. He feels like a needy dirty thing that has just fed off of something pure and good. He feels like he’s ruined him. Of course, he doesn’t realize that Dean feels exactly the same way, only ten fold.

“Sammy,” Dean says and his voice is ragged, “Don’t ever apologize... this is completely... none of this is your fault.”

“Then don’t leave,” Sam begs, because he’s utterly terrified of Dean walking out that door.

Dean just shakes his head and turns for the door.

His eyes are already raw from tears, but the burn behind his eyes is more painful now, and he cries over the lump in his throat to say, “Please don’t leave me here alone!” to Dean’s back at the door.

Dean stills then. They’re both remembering the last time Sam said those words only minutes before and Sam feels the echo of Dean inside of him. He wishes he had that back instead of feeling so open with the feeling of Dean’s cooling seed between his legs and that empty feeling in his chest.

Dean doesn’t look at Sam, but asks quietly, “You don’t hate me?”

Sam feels so selfishly relieved at those words that he laughs.

“No,” he says with a kind of reckless relief, “God, no. Do you hate me?”

Dean’s head turns and his expression sets Sam on edge, killing that momentary relief. Dean still looks wrecked, eyes raw and his lips kissed red, but there’s something in his expression that goes beyond the guilt and hurt and shame. Sam knows those feelings, he knows because it’s exactly what he’s feeling. But there’s something more than that, something like grief. Something like despair. Just... hopeless.

“No, Sam,” Dean says quietly, his voice unreadable, “I don’t hate you.”

Dean is still staring at him with that look in his eyes and it makes Sam too nervous to let it linger, so he tries to smile. He knows it comes out grim, but he tries when he speaks to sound like everything is going to be okay.

“So just stay,” Sam says, like it’s already been decided, “It doesn’t matter... just stay.”

Dean’s face hasn’t changed, but Sam is grateful when he looks down and says, “Okay,” Dean says, and Sam wants to cry with relief, “Okay, Sammy.”

And he walks over to Sam, drops his wallet on the ground as he goes, and Sam lights up when Dean drops his hands on Sam’s shoulders and looks at him for a second. Then he pulls his t-shirt off and wipes Sam’s chest off. It makes Sam’s breath hitch in his chest while he watches Dean, who by some miracle, could still touch him and look at him and love him after what had happened. Dean throws the t-shirt to the side and reaches behind Sam to grab the top sheet that had been laying crumpled at their feet. He pulls it around Sam shoulders and Sam instinctively clutches the ends to his chest. When Sam is finally covered, Dean looks at him again.

“Go get clean,” Dean says, and he pulls Sam up by the shoulders till he’s standing and nods towards the bathroom.

Sam balances himself on shaky legs, Dean’s hands his anchor and he looks up at Dean and asks “Will you be here when I get out?”

Dean’s lips turn up, but it’s not a smile. It looks like it hurts him to even try. “Yeah,” he says, “I’ll be here.”

When he’s finished scrubbing off the evidence of the night from his chest and from between his thighs, he goes back into the bedroom. The bed is made and there is a pile of dirty sheets in the corner. Dean is sitting at the end of the bed, choosing to sit on the floor rather than the bed. 

Sam notices that Sam’s pajamas have already been laid out for him. Normally the coddling would piss him off, but right now, he’s just happy that Dean is still here. He didn’t bolt, he doesn’t hate Sam, and maybe they would get through this.

Dean doesn’t look up when Sam comes in, he seems a little lost in his thoughts as he stares hard at the carpet between his feet.

“Dean?” Sam asks quietly.

He doesn’t look up, keeps staring down as he says, “Yeah, Sammy?”

Sam feels strange with his brother refusing to look at him again. He forgets what he was going to say, so he goes with “The shower’s open.”

Dean doesn’t respond, just stands quickly and brushes past Sam into the bathroom. Sam watches the door close behind him before he puts on the pajamas his brother had laid out for him.

His body feels heavy as he moves around the room and he knows it’s from the adrenaline and the sex but he doesn’t want to fall asleep until he knows everything is okay. He makes the mistake of lying in their bed, careful to leave enough room for Dean, but he’s passed out in a matter of seconds. 

He wakes up when the lights click off. 

“Dean?” he asks.

“I’m here,” Dean says, and his voice is by the door.

“Where are you going?” Sam asks, his voice still sleepy as he tries to focus his eyes on the dark shape of his brother by the door.

“Gonna sleep on the couch,” he says, “Go back to sleep.”

“You can sleep here-”

“Go to sleep, Sammy,” Dean says firmly.

Sam goes quiet then, embarrassed at what stupidly feels like a rejection. Dean turns to leave and Sam can’t help himself, because there’s one last thing that he knows he won’t be able to get out of his head, so he stops him one last time. 

“Dean,” he says trying to ignore the sense of dread building in his gut.

“What is it?” Dean asks. He sounds tired.

And even though he doesn’t want to know the answer Sam hears himself ask, “How much of it do you remember?” he asks.

Dean doesn’t say anything for a long time, but Sam knows he’s still there because he can see the glint of his eyes staring at him in the dark. Sam’s about to ask him again when Dean says with an unreadable voice, “All of it.”

Sam’s heart drops into his gut. 

Dean remembers all of it. He remembers Sam being hard before Dean even touched him. He remembers how Sam had met his frantic hips, thrust for thrust. He remembers how he had forced Dean to keep going, forced him and manipulated him to finish the job. And he remembers how it took next to nothing for Dean to bring him over the edge.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says and he wishes he didn’t sound so quiet and weak. He knows that Dean knows what he’s talking about. Sam wonders if he knows what it actually means, if Dean has any idea how in love Sam is.

“Not your fault, Sammy,” Dean says quietly. And he turns then and closes the door behind him. 

Sam still leaves Dean’s side of the bed empty, and he falls asleep quickly, but he’s cold. 

 

The next time he wakes up, there’s light streaming through the closed curtains and voices coming from the other room. 

“Please don’t tell him...” comes Dean’s voice. 

Sam struggles to wake up at those words and what they’re talking about.

“You know I won’t,” their father says, “Is he hurt? Is he okay?”

Sam silently rolls off of the bed and begins creeping to the closed door to hear better.

Dean laughs and it sounds broken, “He’s about as okay as you can be after you’ve been raped by your older brother.”

Sam squeezes his eyes shut at that ugly word. John doesn’t answer for a long time and Sam strains to hear his father’s response. He finally reaches the door and hears his father’s quiet words clearly.

“You’d take a bullet for him... why is this so different?” John says, “He was saving your life.”

“You know damn well why it’s different,” and Dean’s voice is angrier now, ringing bright and clear through the door that Sam is listening through, “Wouldn’t have ever happened if I... If I didn’t...”

And the voices go quiet. There’s no noise for a moment, then the scraping of a chair and two heavy footsteps.

“I’m so sorry,” comes Dean’s voice, muffled and indistinct, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Dad. I never would’ve... I’m just so fucking sorry.”

Sam’s heart is racing and he doesn’t understand why. He suddenly feels shaky all over and he tiptoes back to the bed and bounces on it a few times. The noises in the kitchen stop immediately and Sam stands up again.

When he walks into the kitchen, his father is sitting in his chair again, his hand wrapped around a styrofoam cup of coffee and Dean doesn’t try to hide his eyes which are rimmed with red. When Sam pauses in the doorway, their father stands immediately and walks towards him. 

For once, Sam just takes the hug. His father pulls him into a tight grip and Sam’s face is pressed against his chest. He’s overwhelmed with how familiar his leather jacket smells. Sam wraps his arms around his father’s back. He feels little buried in his father’s arms, and despite everything that had happened last night and everything they were going to have deal with, he feels like a kid again for just a second.

“Thank you,” his father whispers into Sam’s hair, and then kisses the top of his head. When he pulls away, John has tears in his eyes but he looks so grateful that it makes Sam’s eyes sting.

“We’re hitting the road,” John announces.

Dean looks up at Sam, face unreadable, and Sam just offers him a smile. When he walks past him to get his share of breakfast, he drops a hand to his shoulder and squeezes. 

 

The next weeks aren’t entirely different. Their world hasn’t been turned upside down like Sam had thought it might. Rather there are a few very deliberate changes. 

Sam and Dean always have separate rooms now. This is a serious problem, because now Sam has to share with his father when they have two motel rooms and he’s not happy about it. After they argue for the third night in a row in a dirty motel room in Wisconsin, Sam finally shouts, “This is ridiculous. Just let me and Dean share again.”

“Not my call, Sam,” his father says, and he at least has the courtesy to look like he regrets saying it. 

That shuts Sam up right away, and he crawls into bed before dinner, lying awake with an empty feeling in his chest. 

The other change is that Dean doesn’t touch Sam, like he thinks the curse is going to be set off again just from brushing up against his brother. There are no more wrestling matches over the last piece of pizza or who picks the movie of the night. Dean doesn’t bump his shoulder against Sam’s when he wants Sam to pay attention to him and Sam doesn’t tuck his feet under Dean’s butt while they’re watching TV when they can’t afford heating. 

It feels like something huge has been taken away from him at first and for a long time, Sam is always thinking about it. But like everything else, Sam learns to deal with it.

Other than that, things start to feel normal again. The only exceptions are those moments when someone says something to trigger the memory, and Sam glances up to see Dean looking at him and he knows that they both have the same memory of desperate bodies and black eyes on their mind.

After a month or so. They’re renting a suburban but broken down house near Minneapolis when Sam realizes that what’s happened is so far from over.

He’s flipping through Dad’s journal absent-mindedly while Dean watches cartoons. There’s a page that’s harder to turn, and when he looks, it’s because the page before had been torn out, the frayed edge still jammed in the rings. 

Sam laughs, and Dean turns his head halfway from the TV to show that he’s listening.

“Looks like Dad has even more stuff to hide,” Sam says, still staring at the frayed edge. Dean turns to him completely, “Been ripping pages out of his journal.”

Sam doesn’t really think about the fact that Dean stands up from the couch, and walks into his bedroom just off of the tv room. Instead Sam just speaks a little louder so Dean can hear, “It’s pretty recent too... what do you thi-”

He stops speaking when he sees that Dean is standing right in front of him. He’s got a folded piece of paper between his fingers that he’s holding out to Sam. Sam looks at it, then up at Dean who looks determined, but scared as hell.

Sam doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows that this has to do with what happened. Sam takes  the paper without a word and realizes with a jolt that it’s the same lined paper as the journal in his hands. He unfolds it and fits it into the space it used to hold in the journal, flattening it out the best he can. The paper is worn soft, like it’s been opened and refolded a hundred times. 

At the top of the page is the heading “Aphrodite (Goddess?)” and there’s a list of powers, sightings, victims, all in their father’s organized system. The page starts to get scattered where there are a few references to the mythology and the sources in the margins. There’s a corner of the page that is labeled “Bobby” where the gist of the monsters actually motive is laid out (gains power from lust, victims always young lovers) with references to several ancient texts. Halfway through the Bobby section their father has put a line through the next sentence. 

 

Rumored power to cause sexual aggression. “That which is most loved and desired will be taken by the one to suffer the kiss of Aphrodite’s champions.”

 

Sam stares at the words for what seems like ages as his emotions try to catch up with what he just read. He closes his eyes to try to think straight, but when he opens them, stars erupt all over his vision and he’s disoriented. He struggles to read the words again while his vision stops spinning, not daring to believe he had read it correctly.

“Dean-” Sam says, and he’s proud at how even his voice sounds, it’s really the only emotion he can register though.

“There’s a ton of folklore that says that sort of shit can happen...” Dean says, not looking at Sam. His voice is shaking, “Always ends up being crap.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam says more insistently because his heart is beating so hard in his chest he thinks it might break his ribs.

“Usually just a justification for rape by some medieval dicks... blame it on full moons and gods and curses...” Dean is mumbling to himself as he speaks.

“Dean!” Sam says. 

Dean’s face flinches, and he slowly looks up.

“I just thought you should know... why it really happened,” Dean says, and his eyes are imploring, like he’s begging for forgiveness. Sam wants to laugh because Dean has no idea that he’s never had to apologize less. “It’s not because you were the first person to touch me or the first person I saw or any of that... it’s because I’m a sick fuck who wants his baby brother and I... and I...”

“Did you mean it?”

Sam blurts it out before he has time to think about what he _should_ be saying.

“Did I mean what?” Dean asks.

“You said...” Sam begins, “When we were... you said that you...”

He can’t finish his sentence then, but Dean’s face changes into something even sadder and Sam doesn’t understand how that’s possible.

“Yeah, Sammy. I meant it,” Dean says, “I love you... and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Sam says with an almost hysterical laugh, “Dean... shit Dean...” and Dean said it... Dean said it just now with steady words, so Sam could too, right? Completely overwhelmed, he couldn’t sit. He jumped to his feet so fast that the chair he was sitting in crashed backwards and he laughed at that too.

“Dean, I love y-”

“Don’t!” Dean shouts and Sam cuts off his words immediately. “Don’t say it, because you don’t mean it,” Dean says.

“No!” Sam says, desperate for him to understand that he was so hopelessly in love with Dean, always had been, “No, you don’t understand-”

“ _You_ don’t understand, Sammy,” Dean says, “Whatever I did to make you feel this way... I tried so fucking hard... can’t believe I let this happen...” he sounds like he’s talking to himself now, “I fucked you up, Sam. It’s not your fault you’re confused about this.”

And Sam laughs again, can’t seem to stop. Apparently the revelation that your brother loves you can do that to you. “ _You_ fucked me up? You didn’t do anything, Dean,” Sam implores, “Dean... if it weren’t for you I would literally have nothing. I wouldn’t have a family at all. You’re the only person who gives a shit about me in this world-”

“That’s my point, Sam!” Dean snaps, “I didn’t give you another chance!”

“You did everything you could!” Sam says.

“No...” Dean shakes his head, “Should have kept you in school longer. I should have given you time to find a girlfriend, or a boyfriend or just a fucking friend.”

“That’s not your fault,” Sam said, the anger building now, “You can’t take the blame for what Dad did to _both_ of us.”

“Well it’s not Dad’s fucking fault that I feel this way!” Dean shouts, and Sam flinches. Dean takes a shaky breath, “It’s not Dad’s fault I didn’t hide it better. It’s not his fault I let it rub off on you.”

“Dean!” Sam shouts, “I had no idea! I’ve been trying to ignore it and hide it for years and  I was so terrified that after the curse you would realize how I felt and be so disgusted you would leave and-”

“I should have,” Dean says.

Sam thinks he would have rather gotten a fist to the gut than hear those words.

“Don’t fucking say that,” Sam says quietly, the kind of rage he reserved for his father threatening to bubble over.

“You don’t deserve a goddamn pervert for an older brother, Sam,” Dean says.

Sam’s voice is shaking now with the effort not to shout or sob, he doesn’t know which urge is greater right now, “Pervert... you’re not the one who got off on his dying brother’s cock when he was supposed to be saving him. If you’re a pervert, than I’m a fucking monster.”

Dean shakes his head with a wry smile, “I did this to you... I made you this way... you get that? You don’t get two sickos in one house, it just doesn’t happen. I’m supposed to know better and when you grow up and realize how much I fucked you up, you’re going to hate me.”

“Or maybe we’re just in love,” Sam says with as much defiance he can muster. 

The kitchen goes silent. Sam is staring down at Dean who hasn’t moved from his spot at the table and his heart is pounding and he wants to scream at Dean and make him understand that he’s so, so wrong. Dean stands up quietly and Sam doesn’t know what he had expected when Dean pulls him into a hug. 

Sam tries to push him off, but Dean pulls him closer.

“We’re always gonna love each other,” Dean says, and Sam suddenly knows that he’s lost. All of the force of his rage turns to grief the moment his body relaxes into Dean’s, and Dean says quietly, “But we can’t be in love... even if we want to.”

His body slumps and Sam’s grateful for Dean’s arms around him because he suddenly feels very tired. He feels like he’s going to close his eyes and never wake up. Just as he’s returning the hug, Dean pulls away from him and grabs the keys to the Impala. 

“Gonna go get some stuff for dinner,” he says. Sam knows he said it so that Sam would know he was coming back, but it’s just as obvious that Sam isn’t meant to come with him.

When Dean is out the door, the screen banging behind him, Sam feels like he’s in a daze. He finds himself in his bed, curled up on top of the blankets, and he passes out there. 

 

When he wakes up, it’s dark outside and the clock tells him it’s ten past midnight. He hears the television downstairs and he follows the sound. The living room is dark, the light from the TV flickering across the surfaces of the newly familiar room. Dean is laying on the couch, asleep, his face looking pale in the blue light of the television.

Sam follows the yellow light in the kitchen and sees that there’s two plates and silverware on the table. Sam looks around the kitchen for a few moments, then has a suspicion and opens up the oven.

There’s an untouched lasagna in a one time use tinfoil tray sitting on the top rack. Sam’s staring at it when he hears a voice from behind him. He’s struck with a wave of affection for his brother, and regret that he had worked to make them something special for it to go untouched. 

“The cheese has probably gone bad by now,” Dean says.

Sam jumps, the oven clanging shut when he drops the handle. He stands up straight to look his brother in the eye where he’s watching Sam from the doorframe. He looks tired, but alert.

“You should have woken me up,” Sam says.

Dean doesn’t say anything, just pushes himself away from the doorframe and walks towards the oven. He takes the lasagna and drops it in the trash while he walks towards the fridge. The noise of it makes Sam flinch. 

Sam doesn’t know where to go from here, so he just sits and watches his brother pull out some cold cuts and start making sandwiches in silence. Sam watches as he checks the date on the milk, weighs how much is in the carton and pours it into one of the two glasses he had gotten out, putting the other one away. Dean puts a turkey sandwich and the glass of milk in front of Sam while he sits next to him with his own sandwich, no milk.

Dean doesn’t hesitate to take a bite out of his sandwich, but he doesn’t look at Sam. Sam starts to eat even though he can’t really taste the food. When he takes a sip of milk he pushes it so that it’s sitting between the two of them.

Dean looks at the glass, then up at Sam, like he’s considering something. Sam is too tired and too sad to try to imagine how Dean sees the innocent offering, so he just takes another bite of his sandwich as Dean takes a tiny sip of milk and leaves it exactly where Sam had placed it. Sam can’t help but smile at that, a sad smile maybe, but it’s a smile.

 

The next year is a series of moments that usually leave Sam completely rejected or completely blind-sided. 

There’s the night he first gets drunk. It’s his sophomore year homecoming. Dean picks him up from the curb where he had been vomiting with a near-stranger rubbing circles in his back. Sam spends a good amount of time with his head in the toilet and Dean’s hand on his shoulder. When he becomes a little more coherent, he hears himself saying, “Get off of me... never fucking loved me...” and Dean’s hand tightens so hard on his shoulder that it would have hurt if Sam weren’t drunk. Dean stands and walks out of the bathroom with a muttered, “-no fucking idea, Sammy.”

There’s the time that a friend of Sam’s asks Sam in all seriousness if Dean is his boyfriend when she sees them talking in hushed tones on the hood of Dean’s car during one of Sam’s free periods. Dean responded with, “I’m his brother... don’t be a perv.” And Sam’s cheeks burn bright red with shame and Dean carries on talking about the case once the kid is out of earshot, like nothing had happened.

There’s another time that Sam gets drunk, and he brags to his brother in the car ride home, speech slurred and head fuzzy, that a senior on the hockey team had tried to grope him in the coatroom. It doesn’t have the desired affect because when the Impala screeches to a halt, tires squealing as Dean makes a recklessly fast three point turn, Sam starts panicking. “Gonna fucking kill him,” is Dean’s mantra on the way back to the party and Sam starts begging him to turn around, mortified and rapidly sobering up. “Why do you even care? Just because you won’t take what you want-” Sam cuts off his shouting abruptly, apparently less sober than he had thought because he hadn’t meant to say that. Dean’s eyes snap towards Sam’s in the dark car and the silence scares the crap out of him. He isn’t sure if Dean wants to hit him or that creepy hockey player more. But amazingly, after a  couple minutes of tense silence, Dean just silently shifts the car into drive and heads back to the motel of the week without another word.

There’s the Christmas morning when they’re both woken up by the phone ringing in an unfamiliar motel room that had had one more Winchester in it the night before. Sam doesn’t hear their father’s excuse, just Dean’s clipped responses and questions asking if he was going to see them for Christmas at all. Apparently not. For once, it’s Dean who breaks down. He hurls a lamp across the room and it shatters, leaving Sam, still half-asleep and in his bed, to stare at Dean in the early morning light. He crawls to the end of his bed and pulls on Dean’s hand. “Get off me,” Dean says briskly, but Sam keeps pulling until Dean finally gives in and lets Sam pull him into his bed. It’s the first time they’ve been in a situation as close to the one that ruined them in the first place, and for once, Sam is almost positive that Dean isn’t thinking about it. Sam’s nervous, no idea what Dean’s lines are here, but Dean draws himself closer and when Sam puts a tentative hand on his arm, Dean turns over and fits himself to Sam, and Sam realizes with a jolt that they’re the same size now. Dean lets Sam hold him, one hand slung over his waist, till they both fall back asleep. Their Christmas starts around noon and it mostly involves stolen turkeys and sneaking into movie theaters with the Jewish Families.

And then there’s the hunt that almost kills Sam. That’s what Sam thinks did it, pushed his brother over the edge. He’s in the back of the Impala with Dean holding his side where a werewolf had gotten it’s claws in him. All Sam remembers on the way to the hospital are Dean’s undisguised words ringing in his ears as the blood rushed from his brain out of the gashes along his ribs. “Love you so much, Sammy... Can’t leave me here... remember? Don’t leave me alone. That’s what you fucking said to me and I didn’t so don’t you dare leave me... wouldn’t be able to live without you...” Sam still blushes every time he remembers that their father heard those words.

It’s around eleven at night on Sam’s seventeenth birthday and he’s stitching a cut on Dean’s head and ignoring the bruise he knows is going to cover half his ribs when he wakes up. They’d been in Washington for close to two weeks now, the motel room actually becoming kind of homey with their long stay. It helped that Dean had somewhere along the line made the executive decision that they could share a room again. Their bags are in a corner of the closet, their clothing is in the drawers, and they had learned the local stations. Even though Sam was on Spring Break already, he had made it through their first week of school drama-free, even while he had been doing extensive research for their father. Sam tried not to think about whether they were going to be moving now that the monster was dead, currently being disposed of by their father who promised he’d be back the next morning.

Sam is on his third stitch when Dean’s eyes go wide. “Shit!” he says suddenly.

“What?” Sam asks startled, thinking he had hurt him, and pulling his hand away to inspect the cut. “Sorry, man, you okay?”

“No,” Dean says angrily, “No, Sam... It’s your fucking birthday.”

Sam’s hands still for a moment, mind working back through the calendar, and then he laughs. He ties off the last stitch and Dean asks, “What’s so funny?”

Sam shrugs, dabbing Dean’s forehead with some alcohol, “I forgot.”

Dean rolls his eyes and pushes Sam’s hands away, “I’m sorry, man.” 

“Dean,” Sam says with a smile, “If I can’t remember it, you’re not allowed to feel guilty for not remembering. We’ve been busy.”

“Whatever,” Dean says, “We’re celebrating tomorrow. Whatever you want to do. Anything. We still have that cash from that bar a few towns back.”

Sam smiles, “Yeah... we’ll do something, but I’m beat.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees.

Sam puts the first aid equipment away and they get ready for bed in comfortable silence, something that was still tense when they first started sharing a room again. 

When Sam pulls his shirt off over his head, he hears his brother suck the air through his teeth as he’s putting a t-shirt on. For a second, Sam’s stupidly hoping it was a reaction to him being undressed, but he should have known better.

“What the hell, Sam!” he says and he’s at Sam’s side in a second, and he pulls Sam’s t-shirt up at the hem to see the bruise.

“It’s nothing,” Sam says, he tries to make his voice sound weary and annoyed, but his mind acutely aware of Dean’s touch and the breeze on his bare chest and it just makes his voice shake.

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Sure it is.” 

Dean has a hand on Sam’s shoulder and the other is holding Sam’s shirt up with both of his and Sam swallows. He wonders how overprotective Dean must be, so completely consumed by his need to protect Sam, to not be thinking about what Sam is thinking about in moments like this. Sam tries to ignore the nagging need for Dean’s touch, even now, more than a year after he had been trying to forget about how he felt.

“Dean,” Sam says quietly, and Dean looks up. They’re standing closer than they let themselves these days and there’s a moments hesitation to move away from each other. Dean slowly lowers Sam’s shirt back down, but leaves his hands at his hip, still gripping the hem of Sam’s shirt. 

Dean’s eyes dart from Sam’s eyes to his lips and Sam’s heart jumps into his throat. His instinct is to close the space between them. He feels the pull of Dean’s lips like he’s being dragged and the weight of his hands and it’s almost too much. There’s no thought, just feeling and he knows... he fucking _knows_ Dean feels the same.

But then Dean is pulling away from him and his hands are off of him and Sam says, “Don’t!”

In a confused panic that he doesn’t understand, Sam grabs Dean’s hands and puts them on his sides, forcing Dean to stumble a step forward. Sam reaches up and he’s holding Dean’s head in his hands, bristles of wiry almost blonde hair tickling his fingers. Dean is staring at him with eyes that are full of fear and love. 

Sam smiles, and finally lets that tiny ounce of hope, that hope he had been stifling since the day that Dean had decided he couldn’t have what he needed, he finally lets it flicker to life. His hands are still in Dean’s hair and Dean’s wide hands spread along his sides, careful not to press against his injury.

“I tried...” Dean says quietly. 

Tried. Past tense. Sam takes a noisy breath and let’s it out as a laugh. He strokes Dean’s hair, so fucking grateful he’s allowed to touch him like this, and let’s his hand lower so that he has a hand on his shoulder and neck, thumb brushing against sensitive skin.

“Me too,” Sam says breathlessly, “We should stop trying.”

Dean looks so scared. If Sam hadn’t been so elated, so unbelievably overcome with happiness he might have noticed that Dean looked trapped, completely in contrast to the fact that Sam feels like he’s finally free of something that had been dragging him backwards to the horrors of a night that had meant so much but so little when it came to the grand scheme of _them_. 

“Why doesn’t it feel wrong,” Dean asks, and Sam knows it isn’t rhetorical. Sam understands why he can’t get past that. They live in a world of monsters and ghosts, but even monsters and ghosts have rules. Even though their life was a blur of changing scenery, they had routines and guidelines that they had been circling in their entire lives and Dean lived by one rule more than any other one: Take Care of Sammy. And that rule became about a hundred times more complicated when he fell in love with his him. That rule was made impossible when, more than a year ago, Dean pinned his brother to a cement floor and his brother _liked it_.

“It’s not wrong, Dean,” Sam says quickly, knowing it would take more than words for his brother to believe it, “Not wrong, not wrong, Dean.”

And he lunges forward to kiss him. Their lips meet and Sam relishes the feeling of Dean’s hands tighten a fraction on his waist. Dean’s lips are chapped and warm and he doesn’t want to do anything else except feel them against his own, hurtling over that line they had drawn over a year ago. That’s all he needed, so he pulls back a fraction to break the contact. He’s so relieved, so unbelievably relieved.

Dean makes a noise like a whimper that tickles Sam’s lips and when Sam opens his eyes, Dean’s eyes are shining.

“Are we...” Dean says, and his sentence trails off. 

“Yeah,” Sam says thoughtlessly.

“You don’t know what I was gonna ask,” Dean says, and the fact that he can touch Sam and have a smile on his face makes Sam laugh like an idiot, because he missed this so much. 

“What were you gonna ask,” Sam asks.

Dean offers a wry smile. “Are we really this fucked up?”

Sam throws his head back and laughs. He didn’t realize how much tension he had been carrying, but now that he’s here and Dean has his hands on him and he is smiling and actually looking in his eyes without flinching... Sam is drunk with relief and he’s still laughing when he answers, “Yes... yes we are this fucked up and it doesn’t matter.”

Sam has barely finished talking when Dean’s lips are on his. He would cry with happiness if he was willing to risk ending the kiss. Dean’s lips are pressing against his and it’s so much different then when they kissed that night. That was heat and need, and Sam knows that that’s between them too, but this kiss represents everything else they are. 

Dean’s lips are sweet and cautious and his hand on Sam’s side is impossibly gentle where he knows Sam’s hurt, but he doesn’t take his hand away, like he can make it feel better just by touching it. Sam presses back, harder, and Dean smiles into the kiss but pulls back. Instead he kisses past Sam’s mouth, to his cheek and to his neck and then he just wraps his arms around Sam and stays there.

Sam wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders and lets him hug him, breath hot against his neck.

“Is this okay?” Dean asks.

“Yeah,” Sam says, “It’s okay... we’re okay.”

Sam crawls into Dean’s bed that night instead of his own and when he tries to get a hand in Dean’s underwear between kisses, Dean just pulls Sam’s hand up to his mouth and kisses it with a whispered, “Give me some time... okay?”

That’s how it goes. Tentative touches, sweet kisses and sweeter words are exchanged, but Sam is always left wanting. He pushes and needs but Dean always pulls him back, gently but firmly. Sam has stopped trying to decide if it’s for his sake or Dean’s. 

It takes a couple months before Dean’s hands go anywhere south of Sam’s belly button, but the first night that Dean slips his fingers under the waistband of Sam’s boxers, his eyes dark and nervous, Sam wants to sob with relief. 

It takes another six months before Sam sobs, cock in Dean’s mouth and a calloused finger brushing against his hole, “Just fucking fuck me already!” Dean’s eyes snap upwards, mouth still wrapped around him and it’s the most beautiful thing Sam has ever seen. Without taking his mouth off of him, Dean presses hard, a dry knuckle breaching Sam’s hole, and Sam’s come hits the back of Dean’s throat.

When they’re in bed falling asleep that night, Sam is almost asleep when Dean asks, “Did you mean it? After everything that happened, you still want that?”

Sam rolls closer so that he’s nose to nose with Dean, “Yes,” he kisses Dean, “I want it so badly.”

“Because we don’t have to do it like that,” Dean says in a rush, like he’s practiced this, speech, “If you don’t want me doing it, then I can-”

“No!” Sam says immediately, and he doesn’t think before he says “I want it to be you... inside of me.” 

He flushes at the admission, and he would feel vulnerable if this weren’t Dean.  

Dean pauses at Sam’s confession, then gives him a dirty smile, “What, I’m not fuckable?”

Sam’s cheeks burn even brighter. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about being inside of Dean and found the idea incredibly appealing. 

“No,” he says seriously despite Dean’s joking tone, “I want that too... I want everything, it’s just... I want to do it right, so we can fix it finally.”

Dean’s smile fades quickly and Sam is staring at the shape of his face in the dark, wondering if he said something wrong. Then a thought comes to him.

“Unless you don’t want...” he was going to say unless you don’t want _me_ , but he couldn’t bring himself to say it, because no one should ever say their greatest fear out loud.

Dean’s hands find Sam’s in the dark at those words, “No,” Dean says immediately, “I do want it... It just scares me.”

Sam presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead and whispers, “Me too,” before turning over and pulling Dean’s arm around himself and falling asleep to the feeling of Dean’s quiet heartbeat against his back.

 

Two days later, Dean comes home with dinner and a brown paper bag that doesn’t get opened, just sits there while Dean talks Sam through making meatballs with a stupidly superior smile on his face the whole time. Sam is trying to focus, but he keeps on glancing at the bag, hope and fear battling for dominance at the forefront of his mind. 

His stomach is squirming as they eat watching reruns of a cop drama on the moth-eaten couch. Dean keeps on being overly complimentary of Sam’s cooking and Sam smiles knowingly, because it’s half as good as when Dean makes spaghetti. 

Finally, Dean takes the empty plate out of Sam’s hand and puts it on the table. He takes Sam’s face in his hands carefully and kisses him sweetly. They both taste like tomato sauce. Dean is kissing him sweetly, but Sam can’t seem to do anything with his arms, his mind on that bag and stomach turning over.

“What’s in the bag?” Sam says suddenly against his lips and _fuck_ , he sounded scared... he sounded scared as hell and Dean could tell... _fuck, fuck, fuck._

Dean pulls away, his hands still holding Sam’s face. He looks dismayed and guilty and Sam catches a glimpse of that shame all over again. “I thought...” Dean begins, and as if in slow motion his hands slide off of Sam’s cheeks as his words hang in the quiet room.

“No, Dean-” Sam begins, brain beginning to override his fear.

“I’m sorry, I should have asked,” he says quickly and quietly. 

“No!” Sam says, trying not to panic, but the butterflies in his stomach that started this problem are making it kind of difficult, “No, please do it... please, Dean.” Dean looks up at Sam, his hands in his lap. He looks so young. “What are you afraid of?”

And Dean doesn’t have to say it because he may as well have shouted it it’s so obvious in his face, scared and ashamed and humiliated.

_Myself_.

Sam can’t help it. He crawls into Dean’s lap before he can protest and says, “Why can’t you trust yourself, Dean? I trust you!” and he doesn’t have to say how. He trusts Dean with his life and his body and his heart every single day. “You’re not a fucking monster, okay?” and his hands are on Dean’s shoulder and he shakes them a little, “You’re brave and kind and you’re my best friend. I want you to do this... please, we need to do this. We need to, Dean.”

He’s begging and he doesn’t care, because he’s right and Dean knows it. They’re both scared as hell to return to this, but they’re never going to get past it if they don’t. So Dean nods once, and he places a shaky kiss at the base of Sam’s neck, pauses there to take a deep breath before returning to his lips.

Sam lets Dean take the lead, knows he has to. It’s a strange mirror image of the night this all started. Sam lies on his back this time instead of Dean, perfectly still while his brother works over his body in every way he knows Sam likes best. It’s Dean stripping them of their clothing this time, not Sam, and he does it one piece at a time until Sam is panting and begging for it, his stomach fluttering for very different reasons now. But Dean keeps it slow and sweet and Sam doesn’t realize how effective that slow burn had been until he comes only seconds after Dean’s mouth is on him. 

He’s still coming when a slick finger is suddenly sliding inside of him, and Dean is working him around a second time in minutes. Dean takes too long prepping him, and Sam wonders if his only motive is to make sure Sam is ready for this or if he’s afraid to get to what comes next. Sam is pretty sure it’s a bit of both because when he pulls his fingers and fumbles to grab at the bottle of lube, he’s trembling. 

Sam sits up and holds Dean’s hands tightly in his own firmly to stop the shaking. Dean looks grateful when Sam takes the bottle from his hands and pours some in his palm. When he puts his hands on Dean, he groans, his head resting on Sam’s shoulder while Sam coats Dean’s hard length with the slick. 

It’s all that Sam let’s himself do though, because Dean has to know that he can do this to Sam all on his own without hurting him. So Sam lays back down, staring up at Dean while he takes a few deep breaths kneeling between Sam’s thighs. 

When Dean presses inside of him, Sam’s eyes fall shut. The slow slide stretches him, but doesn’t hurt, and he breathes a sigh of relief because he had been so sure that he would never have this feeling again, never have that final part of him and Dean they hadn’t realized they’d been waiting for.

“Sam?” 

Sam opens his eyes. Dean is hovering above him, looking down at him with the most open expression. It’s fear and want, but mostly love and Sam wonders how he had been nervous about this. He can’t comprehend why he wouldn’t have wanted to come back to this, because this is exactly where they’re meant to be. He had known it the first time too, except it had been so thoroughly shrouded in guilt and shame that he couldn’t see how beautiful this was, how pure. 

“Yeah, Dean?” Sam’s voice is trembling.

Dean tries to speak a couple of times, but nothing comes out. Sam breathes a laugh and Dean smiles, dropping his forehead to Sam’s. 

“God, I love you,” Dean breathes into Sam’s mouth. Sam’s body shudders at the words and he knows he clenches around Dean because he groans and presses that fraction deeper into Sam before he goes perfectly still again. 

“Love you so much,” Sam says while Dean is staring at him with too-bright-eyes and a soft smile that makes Sam sure that they’re going to be okay. 

“Is this okay?” Dean asks finally.

Sam laughs again, closes the inch of space between them for a quick kiss that Dean returns on instinct, “Yeah... yeah, it’s perfect.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I am really happy with how this story came out and am super grateful you scrolled down this far to enjoy it with me.
> 
> Like last time, if you liked the story and have a tumblr, I would be forever grateful if you would share it! I don't have a tumblr sadly and know that Wincest/Weecest is definitely a thriving institution over there :)
> 
> Sequel to "John Knows" soon!! Less angst!!


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